A Discussion Had
by Morninglight
Summary: Lia bint Rustem goes to Windhelm and is not amused at what she finds there.


Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for fantastic racism. Apparently this Ulfric is also Ulfric Douchecloak.

…

If Ulfric Stormcloak was the Nordiest Nord to ever walk, then Lia had just arrived in Nordtown.

Windhelm was rough granite and basalt blocks worn almost smooth by the endless winds off the Sea of Ghosts, the inscriptions of the past High Kings to reign from the city of Ysgramor little more than sketchy etchings beneath questing fingers. It was cold here even by Skyrim standards but Lia needed nothing more than a medium-weight woollen cloak thrown over her Alik'r robes and leather breastplate to bear the icy wind. City guards in blue cotton, quilted leather and chainmail wandered the streets, greeting each other in the name of Talos, while two vagrants had bailed up a dour-looking Dunmer to accuse her of being an Imperial spy. With rumours of how the Morrowind expatriates were treated by the Stormcloaks, Lia could see how the Dunmer would be fertile ground for Imperial overtures. She'd need to gently point that out to Ulfric without triggering the Nord instinct to kill anything remotely resembling a mer.

Finally the louts wandered away to what had to be the nearest inn, leaving the Dunmer sighing in their wake. Her eyes alighted on Lia, took in the Alik'r garb and sparked with wariness. "Do you hate and fear the dark elves?" she asked in that dour Morrowind accent. Obviously she was looking for a fight, sympathy or perhaps both.

"I have no quarrel with the dark elves," Lia told her loudly, "Unless they have a quarrel with me."

"But do you hate and fear us?" the woman repeated as a guard looked in their direction.

"I regard the average Dunmer as I do anyone else who hasn't proven themselves friend or foe," Lia responded flatly. "Does that qualify as hating and fearing you?"

"I… suppose not," she conceded grudgingly. "I am Suvaris Atheron."

"Lia bint Rustem," Lia said, offering her hand, which the Dunmer shook. "I'm fully aware of the historical antagonism between the Altmer and Dunmer."

Suvaris cracked a terse smile. "An educated woman in Windhelm. Wonders never cease."

"I'm no friend of the Empire's though," Lia added calmly.

"Point duly noted. I can only assume that the presence of a Thrice-Folded Alik'r means Hammerfell is reaching out to the Stormcloaks."

Lia raised an eyebrow. If Suvaris could identity her rank in the Alik'r from the subtle clues in her robes and on her bracers (acquired from Kematu's stock after she'd delivered Saadia to him), she was… well-informed. "The Alik'r and the Stormcloaks have much in common," she conceded cautiously. "The Empire pissed on both Hammerfell and Skyrim."

"No one denies that. They abandoned Morrowind, after all. But it's not our fight-"

"I'm not saying you have to don blue and worship Talos Stormcrown, but while the Empire might once have been a cosmopolitan beacon of order and stability for Tamriel, it forfeited the right when it abandoned its responsibilities to Morrowind, Hammerfell and Skyrim," Lia interrupted grimly. "I've met my fair share of 'True Nords' who are using the Stormcloak cause to be racist assholes to anyone with mer ancestry. I intend to point out the poor diplomacy of that when the Empire should be our mutual enemy."

Suvaris smirked. "I'd love to see Ulfric's face when you do."

Lia's mouth lifted in something resembling the Dunmer's smirk. She wouldn't mind making connections to Windhelm's sizeable dark elf population but not if it would jeopardise her overtures to Ulfric. Hopefully the Jarl would listen on how he should be courting the Dunmer as potential allies by making the civil war their fight.

"If you'll excuse me, it's been a pleasure to meet you, but I need to get a drink and something to eat," she told the Dunmer woman with a nod.

"Likewise," Suvaris said as she turned away. "Azura watch over you."

Lia entered the tavern where the vagrants had entered, only to be greeted with a tide of invective from one of them that included the word 'Greyskin Lover'. She took one look at the man, a drunk dressed in once-decent homespun garments spotted with gravy and mead, before turning her back pointedly on him to face the innkeeper, a blowsy woman with too much makeup.

"Don't you turn away from me, Dunmer lover!" spat the drunk, the sound of rough fabric scraping against wood warning of his rising from the bench.

Lia ducked and allowed the wildly thrown punch to pass over her head. There was no honour in unsheathing her sword to deal with this idiot so she settled for spinning in a blur of red and blue to collect him under the chin with a neat right-cross punch. Eyes glazed over, he fell to the ground in a boneless heap.

"Can I please have a bowl of vegetable stew and some tea?" she asked the innkeeper once she'd turned around again.

"I can offer some grilled leeks if you don't want meat," the woman answered with an unspoken 'milkdrinker' tacked onto the sentence.

"Then please add some bread or fish. I don't eat red meat for spiritual reasons."

"I don't know of any religions that forbid eating meat," the woman muttered.

"Do innkeepers in Skyrim take lessons in being rude?" Lia asked of the air. "I am an Alik'r Maiden of the Spirit Sword. In order to follow the Shehai Shen She Ru, I must abstain from the flesh of animals, though I'm permitted fish and fowl."

Not a single lie; while she was an indifferent student of the Way of the Spirit Sword at best, she was Thrice-Folded and therefore expected to maintain at least some of the vows of a sword-singer. That she couldn't stand the smell of cooked meat after the Fall of Cloud Ruler Temple and helping Uncle Irkand build the pyres for her dead clan was just another reason to avoid the stuff.

One of the city guards walked in at that point, looked down at the unconscious drunk and asked, "Did you do that, Redguard?"

"He called me a greyskin lover so I punched him," Lia responded, trying to keep the growl of frustration from her voice.

"He's Galmar Stone-Fist's brother," the guard said.

"Who's Galmar Stone-Fist?"

"The Jarl's huscarl and general of the Stormcloak armies."

"Rolff swung first," the innkeeper said suddenly. "He's always starting brawls, Gjuki."

"I _know_. We throw him in the cell overnight and the Stone-Fist removes him in the morning." Gjuki sighed, rubbing his broken nose. "I'm sorry, Redguard-"

"My name is Lia bint Rustem al-Aurelii, Thrice-Folded of the Alik'r, Maiden of the Spirit Sword, and Emissary of the Children of the Sand to the Children of the Snow," Lia interrupted crisply. "I had no desire for violence when this one took offence to me simply speaking to one of the Dunmer. If he hadn't tried to attack me while my back was turned, he'd still be swilling his mead. I was simply going to have a meal and some tea before calling into the Palace of the Kings because it's been a long journey."

"Shit." Gjuki's faintly exasperated expression turned into one of subtle panic. "Jarl Ulfric has commanded that any Alik'r who enters is to be escorted to the Palace immediately."

Lia kissed the idea of a meal goodbye. "Well, I hope I haven't caused much of a diplomatic incident by punching this Rolff."

Gjuki shrugged. "I imagine that some token bloodgeld will be set. He started it using the nithing's strike."

Lia arranged her cloak and nodded to the guard. "Shall we? I might be part-Nord, but this weather's a bit nippy for one from Hammerfell. The sooner I'm warm, the better!"

…

It appeared that Lia arrived just in time for dinner.

Gjuki, looking faintly harried, hurried over to a grizzled Nord who wore whole damn bearskins up to and including a bear-skull as a helmet and whispered in his ear as everyone at the high table – Ulfric, a thick-moustached man in fine cotton and a few hairy folk in more bearskins than she'd seen on bears so far – looked at her as they entered the Great Hall.

Lia looked around slowly, feeling the weight of years pressing down on the room which had once held Ysgramor. She stood in a place where history had been made in the years before the Ra Gada had come to Hammerfell. This was truly the heart of Skyrim.

"Lia bint Rustem!" Ulfric called from his seat at the head of the table. "Welcome to the Palace of the Kings."

"You honour me with your welcome," Lia answered with a small Alik'r bow. "My blade at your service, Jarl Ulfric."

"This is the Alik'r who helped Ralof escape Helgen?" the man who had to be Galmar rumbled.

"She is," Ulfric confirmed. "She is also the daughter of Rustem and the niece of Irkand."

"Ah." Galmar's eyes were keen in his bearded face. "She was seen talking at length with one of the Dunmer."

"I was pointing out that the Dunmer have every reason to be enemies of the Empire because they were abandoned after the Oblivion Crisis," Lia responded calmly. "I have no quarrel with the Dunmer and believe that you folk should convince them to have a stake in the civil war."

"You struck my brother."

"After he tried to attack me from behind." Lia folded her arms and stared Galmar down. "I am here as an ally as the Alik'r have a vested interest in a free Skyrim. That doesn't mean, however, I will allow every random Nord to shit on me for being a Norc, an Alik'r or both."

"She spoke to Ralof at some length in Ivarstead and offered her aid," Ulfric added as Galmar regarded the Norc woman doubtfully. "If she is the niece of Irkand, she will be a powerful ally."

"Did Irkand send you to marry Ulfric?" Galmar demanded.

"Why, does he want to?" she retorted.

Ulfric winced. "I prefer blondes."

"Praise the gods," Lia said fervently. She might appreciate her Nord blood but damned if she wanted to live in Skyrim forever.

"Pity. You could have brought that little bastard Gorek into the Stormcloak ranks," Galmar grumbled.

"I'm pretty sure I'm not recognised in Half-Moon Hold yet, though it's on my to-do list," Lia answered. "I'm here to represent Alik'r interests in Skyrim and to build a possible alliance between our peoples. I'm not a liegewoman, I'm not a Stormcloak, and the only person who I _might_ take orders from is Ralof as Dragonborn, and that only if it's in regards to dragons."

"And what if the Empire should win the civil war? Will you make an alliance with them?"

Lia met Galmar's gaze steadily. "There will be no accord with Cyrodiil that did not end with Colovian blood on the shores of Lake Rumare and dripping from the soul swords of the Ansei Shehai."

She walked up to the huscarl as he rose, staring him down. If she could win Galmar, she had the Stormcloaks. "Twenty-five years ago, the Alik'r were where you are now. Titus Mede II had ceded our land to the Dominion we had defeated in war. The Thalmor came into Hammerfell in force. And we threw them out, on our own, as the Legion couldn't. One day, we will drive them back to their Alinor."

Galmar didn't flinch as she came closer. "When we win Skyrim, we will take the war to the goldskins and teach those pointy-eared bastards that men aren't their slaves."

"You speak of genocide." That was… disturbing. Even the Alik'r recognised that not every Altmer was Thalmor, though it only meant they tended to give the goldskins a quick and easy death if found outside of specific trading posts in Hammerfell.

"The Thalmor would destroy us all." It was Ulfric who answered quietly.

"No shit. I know their plans all too well. It doesn't mean I believe in exterminating the whole race because of one faction. There's a resistance called the Tamusen – 'Dawn's Rising' – who are active enemies of the Thalmor. Not to mention the Renrijra Krin of the Khajiit and the Valenwood resistance."

Galmar grunted. "I'd trust the Redguards over some goldskins, barkskins and cats."

_You're too fucking kind._ Lia decided she didn't much like Galmar. But she said aloud, "Thank you."

"We should have sent overtures to Hammerfell before High Rock," Ulfric mused. Apparently talking politics trumped the laws of hospitality, which annoyed Lia because she was bloody hungry.

"Would you like a seat?" the well-dressed man suddenly asked.

"Please," Lia said.

Ulfric flushed in embarrassment. "My apologies, Lia. Be welcome to the hearth and the board."

"Thank you, Jarl Ulfric," Lia answered politely, accepting the empty chair at the end of the table.

There was precious little in the way of vegetables so Lia made do with salmon and slightly stale bread. It seemed like she'd need to buy her own vegetables if she wanted to keep her teeth.

She also accepted a cup of mead from Ulfric to seal the sacred hospitality offered, managing to drink it without showing her distaste. Apparently she failed because the Jarl silently raised an eyebrow as she handed the goblet back.

"We tend to drink wine in Hammerfell and even then, I have little of it," she admitted. "Alik'r who get drunk often rarely make their First Folding, let alone the Third."

"Irkand was always abstemious," Ulfric agreed softly. "I should expect the same of his niece."

"As a follower of the Shehai Shen She Ru, I also abstain from red meat," Lia added. "I'm allowed fish, fowl, grains, dairy and vegetables."

"Shehai Shen She Ru?"

"It's the ultimate manifestation of the Ra Gada philosophy – the Way of the Spirit Sword." Lia refrained from telling Ulfric how the last remnants of the Ansei Shehai, barely able to conjure Soul Swords, had taught Irkand their ways because he was the only one interested at the time. When he conjured his Soul Sword – an elegant Akaviri katana – they had named him Ansei and Grand Master, and the alliance which turned the Alik'r from tribal militia into elite military order was formed.

_The Heating is the journey to Wind Scour Temple. The First Folding surviving the training. The Second Folding slaying a Thalmor Justicar. The Third Folding forging your own weapon. The Fourth manifesting the Shehai. The Fifth mastering the thirty-eight grips, seven hundred and fifty offensive and eighteen hundred defensive positions, and nearly nine thousand moves essential to sword mastery…_

Lia was competent enough as a warrior but Irkand had openly admitted he needed her more as an emissary and smith than as a fighter. "I have dozens of warriors but only one niece," he told her often.

"And half the siblings think they'll gain favour with you by courting me and the other half think I gained my ranks too easy," she pointed out.

"I wish you'd stayed with Nurah," he admitted once. "But you are the daughter of warriors. I suppose you would have entered this war regardless."

Lia shook her head slightly. "Sorry, I was just thinking on one of the maxims," she said quietly.

"Oh?"

"'The sword is the self. Its edge is the mind'." It was her favourite maxim in the Book of Circles.

"Hmmph, I never would have guessed the Redguards knew the power of the mind," said a grouchy old man in mage robes.

"Body, soul and mind must be balanced," Lia murmured, swallowing her annoyance.

"Irkand used to say that," Ulfric observed softly. "I remember after Valenwood, when we crossed into Hammerfell, how he would meditate at day's end. Your uncle might have been an assassin, but he was one of the most spiritual men I ever knew outside of the Greybeards."

"'A thrust is elegant, and a cut is powerful, but sometimes the right action is a head-butt'," Lia drawled in some amusement. "The philosophy of both the Blades and the Ansei Shehai is somewhat more flexible than that of the Greybeards."

"The Way of the Voice is a lovely philosophy but it does not survive outside the walls of High Hrothgar," Ulfric agreed a little sadly.

"The Shehai – the Soul Sword – and the Thu'um are weapons of war," Lia pointed out. "And no weapon can achieve perfection without the forge of conflict."

"True. I had no choice but to kill Torygg, to show the wretchedness of Skyrim drinking the milk of the Empire." Ulfric leaned back in his comfortable seat, eyes hooded. "Can you make a… Soul Sword?"

"No," Lia admitted. "I can forge enchanted blades well enough, but the materials come from the earth, not from my soul."

_And even if I could, I would not wield it in your name, Ulfric Stormcloak._ The Shehai was too sacred a thing to use in another man's war.

"I could use a wondersmith," Ulfric said musingly.

"And I will oblige so long as you accept that every weapon will carry a rune which will dull its blade if turned against one of the Alik'r," Lia replied bluntly. "I will offer advice and even aid you to a certain extent, but I will not hand over weapons that could be used against my people if a successor of yours gets frisky."

"Oh, and what if Hammerfell should decide to invade Skyrim?" Ulfric countered. "I'm sure you'll be gathering whatever military intelligence you can."

"No shit. Just like every Nord sailor carries word of what happens in Hammerfell home."

_Don't be stupid, Ulfric. You need the Alik'r more than you know… and Ralof will need my advice to a certain extent._

She needed to be able to operate in Skyrim openly – well, at least in Stormcloak territory. She'd failed her primary mission and would now have to help Ralof clean up the mess.

"You know, most diplomats would have lied," Ulfric noted.

"I've found honesty to be the best policy in a situation like this," Lia pointed out. "We need each other, Ulfric. We belong to the greatest warrior races in the world. The Sons of the Sand and the Sons of the Snow would be pretty damned invincible if we take on the Thalmor together."

Ulfric grunted thoughtfully. "Convince the Norcs to join me and we will discuss a treaty."

"I'm not your mouthpiece, Ulfric." Lia's tone was flat. "I will advise for it, but you can convince Gorek yourself."

"Get Ralof to do it," Galmar suggested. "Coming from the Dragonborn, it will magnify your own power."

_Culhecain thought that too,_ Lia thought blandly.

"Do you worship Talos?" Ulfric asked.

"I believe in Him and honour Him alongside the gods of the Ra Gada and Malacath," Lia answered calmly. "But He isn't my primary deity."

Galmar grunted in displeasure. Lia _really _didn't like him. "Your mother was a Shieldmaiden of Talos," he pointed out.

"And? If you're forcing people to convert to Talos by the sword, they'll flock to the Empire just to piss you off."

"You twist words like an Imperial. You offer help but you will do nothing which advances the Stormcloak cause-"

Lia allowed herself a grin, revealing her under-tusks. "Amongst the Ra Gada, if you're not strong enough to earn your place, you deserve to lose it. _I_ believe the Nords are strong enough to win their freedom on their own and am happy to lay down some groundwork – think of it as the sword-master teaching you a few new tricks. But I won't fight your war for you."

"We need her, if only for the Blades lore in her head," Ulfric murmured. "And it is more than High Rock has given us."

Galmar grunted. "She hasn't even killed an ice-wraith. I'll be impressed if she lives up to her Norcish blood instead of being a knockoff Redguard."

"You have a point." Ulfric smiled and it wasn't a pretty expression. "Prove yourself worthy by slaying an ice wraith, Lia bint Rustem. It is the least I expect of any… ally… of mine."

"Where can I find one?" she asked.

"On Serpentstone Isle. I hope you can swim." Galmar was smirking. It looked like he held a grudge over Lia punching his brother.

_Motherless son of the winter-dead,_ Lia thought grimly. But she would have to do it.

"I'll leave on the morrow," she agreed aloud.

"Good," Ulfric said dismissively, turning to speak with the finely-dressed man. "Jorleif will show you to a room."

In that moment, Lia knew that she despised the Jarl of Windhelm but also recognised that he was – at present – Skyrim's best hope. For his sake, he would be wise to stay that way.


End file.
